


14 Astron, 1453

by Serai



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fennelseed, Longing, M/M, Memories, treehouse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:36:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4546917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serai/pseuds/Serai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I write you letters by the thousands in my thoughts." -- Ludwig van Beethoven</p>
            </blockquote>





	14 Astron, 1453

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fennelseed](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Fennelseed).



> For Fennelseed, with love and gratitude.

.  
14 Astron, 1453

 

My dear,

Spring's finally settled in, here in Hobbiton. It was fair late in coming this year, what with the long rains we had in Rethe. But the Sun's making up for it, as is Her way, and it looks like we'll have a good bounty come summer. 'Twere a relief when She finally showed Herself, and made quick work of warming the hills up. And now the sweetpeas and the stock have come into bloom, filling the smial with their sweet scent. I tend the stock special for you, and make sure to put fresh cuttings in your study, just over your desk where you would want them. I remember, my dear. I do.

The day looked so fine this morning that I decided to take a walk, and so left the morning's gardening to Frodo. He's a good lad, strong and quiet, and his hands love the soil. He gets that from me, I suppose, and from his granddad. He'll carry on after me, just see if he doesn't.

After strolling a while along the road out towards Bywater, I found myself turning up the old path into the Copperbank woods. Most of the trees along the road were felled during the Troubles, as you'd remember, but up past the ridge there are still stands of the old growth left, such trees as were there when you and I were both young. It hasn't changed up there at all - the same old oaks lacing their branches, and the drifts of soft grass and twinflowers carpeting a hobbit's steps like a hand-woven rug. Do you remember the twinflowers, I wonder, and how their scent would turn sharp when a body crushed them underneath? That scent would cling to my jacket for hours after getting home. I never told you, but once May teased me about it, asking if Rosie had minded being rolled in the grass like that. She's always been one for teasing, has May.

In my woolgathering, I found my steps had brought me all unknowing to the old five-branched oak, and I looked up then. It's still there, my love, the treehouse. Old and weathered, and the planks have rotted with age, some of them, so that it ain't safe to climb up anymore. I stood underneath a long time, looking up at the trap door standing open, and wishing as how I might have the strength to try the climb at least. But I'm not as nimble as I once was, and a broken leg's not something I'd relish the thought of, out there alone like that.

It was so quiet out there, and so still. I listened to the wind sighing through the branches, and the little sliding sounds it made as it shifted through the broken planks. The sun shining through the leaves made patterns on the wood. Green and gold, do you remember? I still carry the sight of that light in my heart, how it shone and flickered, catching the damp like diamonds on your shoulders. It's all of a piece to me now: the light from the treetops, the shimmer on your skin, the smell of your mouth and the sounds you made. Those sounds seemed to echo in the air, as if the breeze carried them from the past the way it would carry a hawk's cry from miles away. They brought back the feel of your hand too, the first time you reached out and took me in it, and how it made me go all twisted inside. How new it all was, and you teaching me every step.

How long I stood there I don't know, lost in that long ago, in the moments still so fresh in my heart. I haven't thought about them days in quite some years now, and to have them brought back to mind so sudden was a turn on my heart, it was. How could I know they'd be there, so sharp and clear, as if it'd only been yesterday that you pushed me against that birch over there, and whispered in my ear what you planned to do to me? My lips were throbbing the way they used to after you'd let them go, and I had to put a hand to them to make sure they weren't swollen up. And when I'd done that, I discovered the tears running down my face, such as I hadn't even noticed were there, so deep was I lost in you.

Oh I miss you, my dear. Long days I've gone sometimes without giving it a thought, and you'll forgive me, I know, for a family's a crowded thing, and can drown anything out for a time. But you're never gone from my heart, and you run like a river through everything I do. You know how it is with rivers, you being a Brandybuck and all - the rush and roar of them fades into the background, but you can't live without the water they bring. You're my river, and always have been, keeping me strong with your love even though it's been long, long years since I drank of it. Still, though, you keep me strong.

I long for you so. I love you still. But those tears did stop after a time, and I made my way back again. I'm glad to be here, in the home you gave me, and I don't think I'll go walking up that way again, though I'm grateful to have had those memories made fresh and clear. I'll keep them here in my heart for you, bright green and gold, and the sound of my name on your voice.

Sleep well, my dearest. I am ever yours,

Sam

.


End file.
